


Full Circle

by ABookAndACoffee



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Dancing, Established Relationship, F/M, Jealousy, Light Angst, Moriel smut week, NSFW, Semi-Public Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 12:57:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9324641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ABookAndACoffee/pseuds/ABookAndACoffee
Summary: Morrigan and Azriel are at Rita’s, and Az watches while another male tries to get closer to Mor than he is comfortable with. Az gets territorial. Then, a shared memory of another evening at the venue leads them to decide to finish what they started there years ago.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written to combine two Moriel smut week prompts: “in public” and “dance club shenanigans”. 
> 
> This fic references another that I am in the middle of writing ([here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9236714/chapters/20947271)), but you do NOT have to have read that one for this to make sense. (For those of you who have read the other fics, this would take place far in the future, post-ACOMAF, so it’s not really spoilery for that. Unless you really had no clue that I am highly invested in these two being together. In which case… spoiler alert?)

He had been watching her dance for hours. Being together for years hadn’t changed their habits. Morrigan loved going to Rita’s to dance, and he loved going to watch her. 

Sweat had dampened Mor’s forehead, and strands of hair were clinging to her neck. The silk of her dress was sticking to her, and if he hadn’t already been intimately familiar with her body, he wouldn’t have needed much of an imagination. It was especially warm that night, and he had undone the top buttons of his shirt in a nearly _casual_ manner.  

Mor went back to their table for more wine periodically, where Az made sure she drank as much water as she did alcohol. He even enjoyed this part – her lips on the glass, the slope of her throat, the way she closed her eyes to fully concentrate on the taste. Every movement she made had a sensuality to it, and he drank her in as surely as she drank her wine.  

She felt his eyes on her as she walked away. 

They had been mated for a while, and nearly everyone who went to Rita’s regularly knew this about Morrigan and the shadowsinger. Occasionally, someone forgot to respect this fact, or decided to ignore it.   

The male had been eyeing Morrigan for a while, now. Azriel sniffed in amusement at the thought. This wasn’t the first time that someone had expressed interest in her in his presence. He had lived a long time with the knowledge that she drew others to her, intentionally or not. He had also grown comfortable with the idea that she was his, that she would always choose to come to him. He remained still, watching her, wondering what her next move would be.  

The male tried making eye contact with Morrigan, and to Azriel's surprise, she met his gaze with her own. Taking that as an invitation, he moved closer to her. She watched him approach, plans racing through her mind. She tilted her head at him, and it was such an unusually predatory movement coming from his Morrigan that Azriel nearly shivered. Of course, the male didn’t read it as such, misunderstanding her interest in him, and dared to put his hands on her. 

Azriel’s blood began to boil. When they got home - if they made it that far - he was going to make her moan and beg and forget the existence of this presumptuous fool; the only word on her lips would be his name. 

Morrigan cast a quick glance in Azriel’s direction. Acknowledgement. Reassurance. And a glint in her eye that meant she wanted to play. He didn’t know who would suffer more for it – himself, having to wait to get his hands on her, or the male, who had no hope beyond whatever use Mor had for him while her mate watched.  

What he had previously thought was willingness to show affection to anyone who crossed her path was actually calculation. A shield. She was trusting, easygoing, and others frequently underestimated her because of it. Her ease with others didn’t mean she was available to everyone, that she cared for everyone. And, as with now, others thought her open nature meant they could take what they wanted. They soon found out how wrong they were.  

She turned to move into the male, wrapping her hands around his neck. She kept a healthy distance from him, ensuring space between their bodies, but he gradually became more insistent. When she allowed him to close the distance between them, Azriel’s breath caught in his throat. But she looked over at him, and her eyes locked on to his, refusing to look away, despite the male she was attached to.  

She began to dance on him as if he were a prop, moving her hips, running her hands over her own body, arching her back. Her hair was plastered to her neck, sweat dripping between her breasts until it disappeared beneath the low neckline of her dress. 

Watching her, he thought about what he would like to do with her body, the new ways he might make her moan and cry out in pleasure. As soon as got her away from this crowd.  

Azriel unfastened the next few buttons on his shirt, and her eyes caught on his fingers as they exposed more of the tattoos on his chest. He could have sworn that even in this mass of bodies, he could smell her desire. For him. Only for him.  

He motioned his head towards the hallway that led to the restroom, and she nodded in response.  

Morrigan went to move away from the male, but was held back when he refused to let go of her hips. She whispered something in his ear – letting him know it was a firm ‘no’ – but he began to protest. 

Azriel paused, waiting to see what his mate would do.  

With a sudden movement, Mor freed herself of the stranger. He went to say something to her, but a quick look had him cowering and backing away. Azriel worked hard to make sure he was never on the receiving end of a look like that.  

Catching Azriel’s eye, Mor wandered down the hallway towards the restroom. 

He entered the restroom after her, locking the door behind him. Morrigan turned around, grinning, fire in her eyes. 

The male hadn’t even bothered scenting Morrigan, which was his mistake. The shadowsinger was all over her, and it didn’t take being a Suriel to notice that the two of them were wholly focused on each other. Everyone else was background noise, a distraction until the two of them were alone again. 

His hands were balled into fists and he flexed them as he considered where those hands would be in moments. 

“You’re mine,” Azriel growled.  

“Indeed,” she answered, eyes searching his face for what he had planned for her. His wings flared behind him involuntarily, and her eyes widened, wanting to place her palms on them, to make him feel as good as he always made her feel. She nearly closed her eyes in anticipation. 

“Do you remember the last time we were in here together?” His voice rumbled with the memory of her legs around his waist, the hair that had come loose from her braid, the feeling of wrapping his fingers around her thighs for the first time. 

Understanding crossed her face. “I seem to recall, yes. I kissed you, you couldn’t keep your hands off me, and then we were interrupted. I remember being incredibly dissatisfied with that ending.”  

She backed up until she hit the sink counter. “I was standing here. You were much closer.”  

He stalked forward until he was pressing against her, his height forcing her to look up at him. His wings were still flared away from his back, forming a wall around her.  

Mor pressed a palm to the front of his pants. “I didn’t get to do this, that night.” She ran her hand along the hardened length she found there, stroking him through the fabric and grinning as she saw him struggle to control himself. His hips moved forward into her hand as she tried to grasp as much of him as she could through his pants. 

She placed another hand on the outstretched membrane of his wing. “And I certainly didn’t get to do this.” 

Blood rushed straight to his cock. He grabbed her wrist and spun her around.  

“You’re mine,” he growled again into her ear. He looked into the mirror that was before them. Her hair was tangled from movement, beads of sweat collected on her chest, resting above the curve of her breast. His arms were firmly around her, one hand holding her wrist, the other splayed across her stomach. 

All those other times here, she might have let that male keep touching her, if she had wanted him. Before she was his. Before their lives had taken such a dramatic turn that they were forced to either cling to each other or let one another go forever.  

Now, he pressed her against his chest to remind himself of this fact – that they had nearly not been, that they always had choices, but it felt as if those choices had been designed to bring them each other, to this moment.  

As he remembered it, she had been two bottles deep into wine, and his own bearings had been compromised by the bourbon he had been drinking to forget, even as he had watched her with that other woman. It was years ago, now.  

He remembered it in flashes, impressions of her.  

The flush of anger in her cheeks. The pain in her voice.  

_Why don’t you ever choose me, Az?_

Then, the taste of wine on her lips. The warmth of her skin under his palms. The way she had looked at him, unabashed, as he had removed her dress.  

He had been terrified. He never told her that. He had peeled away that fabric and felt like he was dying, like he was taking something he hadn’t earned and would never deserve.  

But they hadn’t actually been together that evening, not yet. They still had miles to go. He blinked away the memory. It was one of many, and he wanted to focus on what was before him.  

The heat of her body. The smooth silk around her. The rise and fall of her breath. The frankness with which she looked him in the eyes. The perfect trust and love he never thought he would see come from her. 

He would taste wine on her again, if he bent his lips to hers. 

Mor watched him in the mirror, recognizing these thoughts go through him as surely as if he had been speaking them to her. He had the shadows on his side, centuries of death-dealing to help him learn the secrets of others. Morrigan had other ways of getting inside him, and he welcomed her, now. 

Part of her wanted to return to that time before, to change things.  

She wanted to refuse compromise, to go back even further, to when they were still nearly children and fresh and the wonder of each other was new. Before they had made choices that had pushed them apart, pulled them together, and then pushed them apart again.  

But this – this would not exist as it was, if they had not struggled and toiled and turned away from each other time and again. Only to turn to each other one evening when it counted the most. 

Mor didn’t like to dwell in the past. The past was full of things like them holding back words, not touching each other, being afraid to seek comfort in each other’s arms, putting other people between them as distractions.  

But it also contained the choices and words that had brought them here. That other evening, what seemed like a different time, she had refused to compromise, to wait.   

_You could never do anything to make me not want you._

She wanted to taste those words on his lips again.  

She pressed her back to him and reached back with her free hand to pull him in closer. She coaxed them both back to the present, where she was his and he was hers, and there were no more questions about whether she would accept him, when she chose him every day. When he let her in, every day.  

He took both of her wrists and placed her hands above her head to hold onto the back of his neck.  

“Stay there,” he commanded. 

He ran both of his own hands along her torso, cupping her breasts, the feel of them filling his palms easing a satisfied moan from her. He pressed his hips forward and her head fell back onto his shoulder when she felt him hard against her.  

Her breath became shallow, her scent overwhelming. She wanted to get her hands on him, but she knew he wouldn’t let her. She had made him watch. Now, in the mirror before them, she had to do the same.  

He placed a hand under her chin and lifted her head higher, until her throat was long and exposed in front of him.  

“You. Are. Mine,” he breathed into her ear, and he licked a path up the side of her neck with the tip of his tongue. Beads of sweat still coated her neck and chest, and he watched them glisten, wanting to gather them with his tongue. 

She moaned in that way she had, the way he could listen to forever. He would spend the rest of his life coaxing that sound out of her.  

_Azriel -_

_What do you want, love?_

_You you you -_

Azriel grabbed the fabric of her dress, pulling it up until he could get his hands on the skin of her thighs. His hands ventured further, hands grazing her hips, and he hooked his fingers on the scrap of lace he found there. He moved his fingers over her center, feeling the dampness through the fabric. She bucked her hips into his fingers without meaning to. 

“Morrigan,” he growled.  

A shiver went through her and she found herself unable to reply. She had been thinking of this moment when she had gotten ready to come out earlier that evening, but it was consuming her, he was overwhelming her with the pressure of his weight against her and his desire and his need to claim her as his, after that other male had had his hands on her. 

“Hold this,” he ordered her. She took the skirt of her dress and looked back up at him in the mirror, waiting. He hooked his fingers around her underwear and dragged them down her legs, to her ankles, where she stepped out of them and he threw them out of the way.  

He paused for a moment, closing his eyes and running his hands over the soft skin of her calves, up her thighs. He placed small kisses behind her knees before he moved to stand behind her again. 

His nostrils flared as he took in her scent, and he reached around to stroke her center. Resting one hand on her stomach to keep her steady against him, he rubbed and circled and worked the nerves there until her legs trembled, one hand resting on the counter to hold herself up, his name a moan on her lips. He dipped his fingers into her and she cried out. Azriel moved his other hand to her throat again, holding her face towards the mirror.  

“Look at how beautiful you are, Morrigan. And you are mine.” His breath warmed her face, and she could only nod in agreement as his fingers continued to stroke her sex, as he brought her closer to the edge. It normally wouldn’t take him long to give her what she needed, but he took his time, backing off when he knew she was getting close.  

She raised herself up onto her toes, trying to get closer to him, shifting her hips to get his fingers where she needed them. 

“Damnit, Az,” she gasped. She reached up and scraped a nail against the membrane of a wing that he had left in her reach. His body stiffened behind her, tension building in him, but he allowed her to keep stroking him and he went to work making sure that she came for him quickly. He nearly breathed a sigh of relief when she did and the movement of her fingers on his wing paused.  

He gave them both a respite, eyes taking her in, her wetness coating his fingers. It was a different time, when they had found themselves in this room before. The uncertainty and fear he had felt at hurting her, disappointing her, had fled.  

He held her up as she came down, legs trembling, cheeks flushed, perfect.  

She looked at him in the mirror, standing over her shoulder. They rarely had to speak in these moments.  

He knew exactly what she wanted before she moved.  

She slowly bent forward over the sink, bracing her forearms on the counter and watching his face as she made her intentions clear. As he freed himself from his pants she reached down to raise her dress over her hips again, and she had to restrain herself from reaching back to grab at him. 

Azriel reached between her legs and coaxed her thighs apart, making room for himself between her legs. He stroked her folds once more, making sure she was ready for him. He entered her with a quick motion, and she gasped in spite of herself, moaning with the thrill of being filled with him.  

He ran a hand along her spine, admiring the arch of her back as he shifted and pulled out slightly. Holding her hips, he began to thrust into her steadily, making sure she felt every movement.  

He bent over her, cupping her breasts in his hands, kissing the back of her neck, taking in as much of her as he could. He held on to her, clinging to her, refusing to let there be too much space between their bodies.  

_Morrigan - you are mine._

_Yes yes yes_

His thrusts into her, behind her, were an answer to everything they had been through before. He loved her so much that he felt it coming through his pores. It had been written plainly on his face for centuries; the fact that they were mates was incidental, inconsequential compared to what he had felt the moment he saw her in that camp. 

He wanted her to moan and scream so loud that everyone in the place would know where they were and what he made her feel, that she was his.  

And this was the choice she made every day – to be his. A choice she would make every day for the rest of her life. 

As if she knew what he was thinking, his name came out of her lips, as naturally as her own breath –  

_Azriel – my love – my mate_

Suddenly, he didn’t care if anyone knew, if anyone heard, if anyone else in the world ever saw them again. All he needed was for her to keep saying his name like that.  

His hips snapping into hers, Mor came once again before Azriel allowed himself to reach his own climax. Waves washed over her as he continued to thrust into her, and she smiled in satisfaction at his groans.  

Every other sound but their ragged breath seemed to have fallen away. They rested like that for a moment, his body covering hers, as their breath evened.  

He turned her towards him and held her to his chest. She had proven many times that she didn’t need him to protect her, to take care of her, but he couldn’t help the instinct to do just that with the woman in his arms. 

They helped each other to rearrange their clothing and make themselves presentable. He handed her a cloth to clean herself. She refastened his buttons. He brushed her hair out of her face, adjusted and smoothed the skirt of her dress. 

Reaching up to stroke his face, Mor smiled at him. “Let’s go home, Azriel” she murmured. 

He thought his heart would burst, hearing her say that. It was a contrast to nights before, when they had been here. When he had just watched her, and wished. When she had felt his eyes, and waited. Here, but not together. Loving each other, but never saying it. 

Azriel took Morrigan’s hand, anchoring himself to her as they stepped back into the noise and crowd. The sound of Rita’s was like a din intruding on the moments they had just shared. She took his hand so he could fly them home, and as she settled herself into a comfortable position in his arms, they suddenly existed in a world in which only the two of them were real.


End file.
